A week passed.
A painfully long and lonely week.
Spike wouldn’t even look at her.
A whole week and not so much as a glare in her direction, or a longing glance.
Nothing.
Not that Buffy had expected anything less than a total freeze out, if she were honest with herself. He’d said he loved her, and she’d rejected him, thrown his feelings in his face as if they meant nothing. So the non-contact? It was expected.
But it still hurt.
That first class had been the hardest. Buffy had been on the verge of a panic attack at the thought of having to be in the same room as Spike. Sitting so close, but knowing if she reached out to touch him, or talk to him, it wouldn’t be returned. Willow’s gentle nudging had been what forced her to get a hold of herself. She could do this. She had to do this.
When she’d entered the classroom Buffy had frozen almost immediately. Spike... was there. Of course he was there; he was in this class too. But that was not the biggest shock, no... It was the fact he was not sitting in his usual seat at the back of the room beside hers. He was in the front row.
As far from her seat as the small room allowed. He obviously needed or wanted distance from her, and she couldn’t begrudge him that. Not after how she’d treated him.
She’d made her way to the back of the classroom, shaking off Willow’s sympathetic eyes, and sat in her usual seat.
And fought to keep her tears at bay for the duration of the class.
When the bell had sounded Spike was gone in a flash.
It had been the same with all of their other shared classes for the rest of the day. And the rest of the week. And into this one as well.
It was slowly driving Buffy insane.
The one time she had tried to talk to him had been at training. She’d asked, innocently enough, if he’d be going to the meet to LA. She’d held her breath waiting for his response, unsure of which answer was the worse of the two. If he wasn’t there she’d miss him terribly, and the team would be down a talented captain. If he was there she’d miss him even more, being in his presence but not being able to talk to him... that would be unbearable.
Spike had flat out ignored her, roughly pulled his goggles over his head and dived into the pool.
Buffy found herself at the pool again now, only this time alone. Coach had cancelled training for the afternoon, insisting the team needed an afternoon off after the punishing session the afternoon before. But Buffy needed to be here, needed the calm the water brought her, and she took solace in the quiet of the empty pool deck.
Dropping her towel and bag on the bleachers she quickly tucked her hair into her cap and pulled on her goggles.
Maybe a swim would help clear her mind.
She mounted the diving blocks, adjusting her two-piece racing suit, and bent into position.
Like a spring she uncoiled from the blocks, grunting with exertion as she forced her body as far as it would go, before her fingertips sliced through the icy cool water. It washed over her like a calming tonic, and instantly her mind stilled.
Here, in the pool, she felt at home.
Here, in the pool, her worries dissipated.
She fly kicked in a torpedo position, powering her body through the water. Her lungs began to burn, her muscles were screaming because she hadn’t stretched, but she pushed on. This was a burn, a hurt, she relished. Pushing herself to her limits, seeing how far she could go.
The wall approached, and Buffy—still submerged—began a frog kick to get her there quicker, sculling her hands to drive herself forward.
She reached the wall, twisted to plant her feet, and sprung off again, bound for the opposite end. Finally she breached the surface, her gasp for air echoing in the quiet.
And for once the calmness of the pool didn’t last.
She suddenly lost the urge to be anywhere near anything that reminded her of her failed relationship with Spike. There were too many memories here.
Stroking quickly to the edge Buffy hauled herself out of the pool and grabbed her things, disappearing into the girls’ locker rooms.
She never noticed the eyes watching her from afar.
It had been a hell of a week, hell being the operative word.
A large part of Spike had wanted to say sod it all and leave. Get the hell out of Dodge. Just get in his car and go. It’s not like his father would notice his absence; he was perpetually tied up with work. And he doubted anyone at school would really care if he decided to take an extended road trip. Snyder, hell, he’d probably throw a parade to mark the occasion of his leaving.
When it came down to it, the final do-I-stay-or-do-I-leave moment, it was a temporary lack of funds that kept him in good old SunnyD. Asking for the dosh from his dad would raise suspicion, and he wasn’t going to ask for a loan from a mate, not when it was likely he wouldn’t be back to repay it. If he was going to leave he wanted to cut all ties cleanly, and a debt over his head wouldn’t allow that.
So he’d stayed.
And stupidly turned up to class the next day, and the one after that, and the one after that.
He was a glutton for punishment, there was no other explanation.
That first day, when he’d walked into class, he’d made a conscious decision to sit as far as humanly possible from where Buffy normally sat.
It hadn’t occurred to him at the time that sitting in the front row would mean she’d have walk past him to get to her seat. He’d known when she’d arrived, could feel her eyes on him and heard her breathy little sigh when she’d seen him. Spike refused to look up from his desk. And then she’d walked by, smelling like fucking heaven, and he’d almost leapt out of his seat in the urge to get away from her. She was the one to end things and it wouldn’t do him any good to follow her around like a lost little puppy.
Knowing his luck, if he had left he’d only get busted for it, and the last thing he wanted to do was give the snivelling little excuse of a principal cause to boot him off the swim team.
It was the one thing about his life that he still gave a shit about, and he wasn’t going to have that snatched from him.
So he’d sat there, hands clenching the edges of his desk to fight the urge to run out the door—or run to Buffy—and waited for the torment to end.
When the bell sounded he was out of there and in search of the closest empty room to lock himself in before he embarrassed himself by crying in public.
The cat and mouse game had continued every class they shared together. And the few times he’d seen her coming down the hallway toward him Spike had ducked into a classroom, or started a conversation with whoever was nearby. Once he even turned around and briskly walked in the other direction.
She’d noticed that.
And a small part of Spike had taken satisfaction in the hurt that had crossed her face when she realised he was deliberately avoiding her. It quickly wore off. Because honestly, there was no place he’d rather be than in her presence.
Even after she’d torn out his heart and stomped on it.
Willow had tried approaching him a couple times over the past week, but he’d shrugged her off. Nothing she could say would placate him. It was on her insistence that Buffy would give him another chance that had put him in that heartbreaking situation in the first place. He didn’t believe Buffy’s friend had set him up, but he still blamed her for her part. Without her encouragement he may have let things cool for a couple days before approaching Buffy.
Who are you tryin’ to kid, mate? Patience was never one your virtues.
Her efforts to speak to him again had waned, obviously getting the hint that he didn’t want to discuss it with anyone.
She wasn’t the only one who gave him a wide berth either. Most of the upperclassmen at Sunnydale High avoided him, save for the boys on the swim team. And Harmony.
“Oh Spikey, I knew you’d realise what a mistake it was choosing her over me.”
“Shove off, you dozy cow.”
Only once had Buffy tried to speak to him, at training a few days ago.
He’d ignored her and had dived into the pool as quickly as possible. Distance was what he needed, and the pool provided that, swallowing him and his despair with open arms.
It was hard to keep his eyes off her.
He knew that she was aware he was ignoring her. He pretended she wasn’t there, looked in the other direction when she was near, found something... anything other than her to look at. He could feel her eyes when they were on him and refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing his pain.
It wasn’t until she’d turn around or her focus was no longer on him that he’d finally spare a glance in her direction.
She looked so sad. And part of him wanted to comfort her. The other part, the vindictive side of his personality, was pleased. She’d brought this on herself.
What mystified him was the why.
Why was she so sad? Why did she look at him with such longing? It had been her decision to end things and her behaviour was confusing to say the least. She was acting like the she was the scorned one, like she was the dumpee, and not the other way around.
It was the question that urged him toward the pool, knowing at least in the water he’d find escape. There was no training this afternoon, so he’d have the pool to himself. Not even coach was around, so no-one would be there to disturb him.
Or so he thought.
He heard the splash of someone in the water before he’d left the locker rooms, his bag still slung over his shoulder.
Buffy.
He knew it was her immediately. No one else sought the pool as she did when it was empty, no one expect for him that is. His desire for a swim was quickly extinguished. But he couldn’t drag himself away. Spike didn’t think he’d ever get sick of seeing her glide through the water. Like a sprite she was, most at home when in the depths.
She had nice technique. Clean, precise. And that’s why he was watching her, or so he told himself. It was not because it was the first real opportunity for a good long uninterrupted stare in a whole week. His eyes drank her in as she rapidly approached the other end of the pool.
She needs to surface... he thought, worry lines creasing his brow and deepening the longer she remained submerged.
When she hit the wall and turned around Spike took a step closer to the edge of the pool. What she was doing was dangerous, if she held her breath too long she could black out from the lack of oxygen, drown even.
It sent chills down Spike’s spine.
Her stroke was slowing, her movements becoming sluggish, and his concern kicked up a notch or ten.
Spike dropped his bag and ripped his shirt over his head, ready to dive in and grab her. He took two steps toward the pool, ready to dive in, when she finally surfaced.
The sound of her gasp for air was one of the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard.
It didn’t stop him from wanting to dive in though. No, now he wanted to dive in and throttle her. It was a stupid, rookie mistake to go swimming by herself, and to pull a stunt like that when the building was empty...
She’s safe... she’ll be okay. Get out of the pool, love.
The lengths to which she’d pushed herself was punishing, and she was lucky she hadn’t lost consciousness.
Which begged the question... what exactly was she punishing herself for?
When she began swimming to the edge Spike collected his things and hid out of plain sight, his eyes following her until the locker room door forced their separation.
~~~~~~~~~~